Blessed Are The Merciful
by MsDoodle
Summary: Myotismon, the scourge of two worlds, shuffled brokenly through the rubble and ruin of his failed conquest. He had escaped the Chosen Ones with little more than his life. His grizzly hoards were slain; his destiny lay in shambles. It would have been a pity, had he not brought this on himself.


Been busy with school and haven't had the time to update my main fic for a while so I decided to put up this drabble I wrote for a friend a few months ago. It's short and not so sweet. Will be going on break soon so hopefully I can get another chapter of ToS posted soon, for those of you who're following that.

In the meantime, enjoy :)

* * *

Myotismon, the scourge of two worlds, shuffled brokenly through the rubble and ruin of his failed conquest. He had escaped the Chosen Ones with little more than his life. His grizzly hoards were slain; his destiny lay in shambles. It would have been a pity, had he not brought this on himself.

Wizardmon looked down on him from the slanted peak of a fallen tower. He'd been watching for some time now, noting the increasingly pronounced limp in Myotismon's stride. He was wounded; vulnerable. Even that shameless sycophant, DemiDevimon, had abandoned him now.

A gasp echoed through the broken city as Myotismon caught his foot against something sharp and pitched forward. He landed in a swirl of ash and dust. Wizardmon chanted his head to the side and watched the man struggle to his feet again. He wondered how long Myotismon would last out here. It was nearly dawn, and the daylight hours were fast approaching. Part of him wanted to stay his advance until then. Forego his own intervention and let the coward burn. It was sure to be a marvelous spectacle.

But no, he'd waited far too long for a chance like this. His hatred had festered for long enough.

The wizard hovered down from his perch. He kept his distance from Myotismon, for now. No point rushing things. He would stalk him a while.

Again the vampire fell, and again he railed against the forces that weighed him down. It was a losing battle. Each time he collided with the earth, a little bit of his spirit left him. Soon, there was almost nothing left.

The once resplendent Lord Myotismon was brought to hi knees at last as a withered creature. His fine clothes were tattered; his golden hair frayed and disheveled. To Wizardmon, it was a beautiful sight. But more beautiful still were those sea blue eyes, now clouded and unfocused.

''Wizardmon…'' Came his thinning voice through cracked and bloody lips. ''Help…me…''

The vampire reached a feeble hand toward him. Wizardmon stared as though the gesture were foreign to him. Then, lifting his hand, he muttered.

''Thunderball.''

The orb struck Myotismon in the chest. Were he in his prime, the vampire might have simply brushed the thing aside, but he was too weak now.

Wizardmon did not wait. He struck again, and relished the agonizing gasps that followed. The vampire made to flee from him, but as he turned his feet faltered and his ankle snapped with a wet crunch.

There was a scream. Wizardmon savored this, too.

''What a sorry state you're in.'' He said, again canting his head to watch as the creature writhed.

It was almost pitiful, seeing him like this. There had been a time when Champion and Ultimate alike bowed to the great Myotismon. Some had hated him, but all had feared him. Now, he was a threat to no one. Not even a child.

Wizardmon stood beside the whimpering demon and nudged him with his foot.

''Whatever have they done to you, Myotismon?'' His voice was languid; almost a sigh.

A good kick set Myotismon onto his back. Wizardmon crouched down and examined the broken form. Myotismon stared, pale face twisted somewhere between supplication and hate.

''I always wondered,'' said Wizardmon, reaching for the crimson mask upon the Vampire's face, ''What you truly looked like.''

With the mask perched delicately in one hand, Wizardmon looked down at the face which had mocked and sneered at so many, exposed at last.

''Seems I wasn't missing much.''

He tossed the mask aside and it landed with a clatter in the rubble.

''I've dreamed of this day, you know.'' Wizardmon spoke wistfully, as though trading secrets with a dear friend. ''I'd always hoped I might be there to witness your downfall, but this…this is far better.''

He slid off his gloves and laid them carefully on the ground.

''I'm almost thankful Gatomon spared you. Not that you deserved it.''

Scarred grey hands circled the vampire's throat.

''She had more right than anyone to kill you. But she's changed. She's one of them now, and she'll never have to sink to your wretched level again.''

The hands began to squeeze.

''But I'm more than willing to.''

What happened next could scarcely qualify as a struggle. Myotismon clawed at the vice grip on his neck. His legs thrashed weakly, heels scraping deep tracks into the debris. And Wizardmon, stone faced, only tightened his grip.


End file.
